Lead Us Not Into Temptation
by Wolvmbm
Summary: Their bodies were so close, both drawing the same air. His eyes were magnets again, drawing her closer until their chests touched. Her body warmed to his heat and shivered. Hermione and Ron are together, but when Ron and Harry leave for Auror training, and Ginny's away for Quidditch, will she be tempted? Book compliant until Epilogue.
1. Week 1

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

For the first time, Hermione was truly alone.

Well that wasn't true.

Bar occasional summers at home with her parents and winter terms she didn't spend with the Weasleys, something non-existent after fifth year, she was now absolutely alone.

To be in a room in complete silence should have been total serenity to her. After the hectic pace that was her life two years post-war: going back to Hogwarts for her final year through independent study courses, applying and accepting an apprenticeship with the Department for the Regulation of the Control of Magical Creatures shortly after (despite lucrative offers for a war heroine elsewhere), finding a small flat for herself that was affordable and a few skips away from her childhood home, and getting ready to send her newly rescued and restored parents, now home alone, off to a Mediterranean cruise (they wanted to go to Australia before Hermione talked herself into a fit trying to convince them otherwise– safety precautions, in case locals would recognize them as Monica and Wendell), her life was forever in frantic motion.

But however her boyfriend Ron was away in what would be a year of Auror training.

Her best friend Harry, coincidentally, got assigned to help train Ron's group of trainees.

And her close friend Ginny just landed herself a spot as a Chaser on the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team and had been spending her summer going on world tour with them.

So here she was, sitting in her makeshift cubicle at the Ministry in her department, outside her supervisor's office, Tander DeRogue. A Hufflepuff Hogwarts graduate about ten years her senior, he was a man with the exuberant personality of Hagrid, with the grace of Seamus Finnigan in his first year charms class– a combination that never made for a boring day. While not present for the entire Final Battle, he returned to Hogwarts to help safely evacuate the younger students. Quite charming really he was, with a roguish, boy-next-door look.

Across from her sat her fellow apprentice, Ernie Macmillian. Ernie was just…Ernie. School behind them, Hermione hardly knew Ernie, though he always earned her respect through his willingness to fight the Final Battle. After his final year, he worked at the Ministry in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office cooped up in a small compartment with no windows as a Junior Music Detection Liasion. Meaning he'd listen to hundreds upon hundreds of songs for traces of magic. He was convinced Spice Girls were secretly sirens. And David Bowie was a shape shifter.

And Hermione understood why Ernie was Ernie. That kind of job would drive anyone stir crazy.

But at least it wasn't silence.

And you weren't alone.

"Hey, Herm."

"Hermione," Hermione politely corrected.

Ernie ignored her and continued. "Did I tell you about the time we analyzed The Clash 'Rock the Casbah' single for days on wobbly record…"

"Record player."

"…for magical detection? Man, those guys are ace."

Hermione slowly nodded. She was staring at an old review file over the capture of a baby Graphorn abandoned in South America before she arrived. A magical creature native to the mountains of Europe abandoned in infancy on a completely different continent raised more than enough suspicion. It garnered Hermione's attention. However, it wasn't enough for Ernie to realize her concentrations were elsewhere.

Ernie shifted in his seat. "What are you doing?"

"Reading this case file about the baby Graphorn."

"There was a baby Graphorn? Were was I?"

"Probably somewhere in between '2 Become 1' and 'Mama' on the Spice album."

Ernie's slammed down on his desk. "Play the album backwards around the Regal Navy…"

"Royal Navy."

"…and I guarantee you they _will_ respond. Apparently my testing methods were a bit too dangerous for muggles."

"I can imagine a minotaur responding to 'Back for Good' by Take That." Hermione had to chuckle at herself. Her humor fell in spite of Ernie's confused gaze.

She was pretty sure that was funny.

Not even a little bit?

He still looks confused.

Okay…she went back to reading the file.

"No need to read a file that concerns nothing of us. In fact, it's not even our jurisdiction."

It's true. The specifics of the department where Hermione apprenticed only regulated magical creatures in the United Kingdom. Respective country's ministry and the Continental Regulation Department, The Con, a hierarchy with a lot more manpower than just her, Ernie, and Tander, handled creatures found within European territory. Creatures in other countries went to the International Division or ID. The ID was a prestigious sector of the Magical Creatures Department, and while Hermione, with her war heroine status, could've easily negotiated a position on that team, she wanted no special treatment under any circumstance.

So she was here. In front of Ernie.

Still reading this blasted file.

"Ernie, don't you find it a bit odd that a newborn Graphron would be found outside of its native country?"

"Probably for a change of weather."

She sighed in exasperation.

"Calm down, Herms…"

"Her…"

"Granger! Macmillian!" Tander's baritone voice yelled from his office. Hermione placed the file back on her desk before rising and joining Ernie on the path to her boss' office.

Her superior's office was lined with grey walls, a grey file cabinet, and a matching desk and bookshelf set, with a window that was charmed to display the weather outside and in any location he needed to head to, very clever. It would've been a huge office if he didn't insist on the life size replicas of certain magical creatures, which really added character to the grey room. He was quite partial to the heliopath that was placed near his floo. It scared most everyone attempting to call him through the network. Hermione thinks that was his intent.

Tander shifted some files on his desk before addressing the pair. "You two all caught up?"

Ernie raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Caught up with what?"

"I don't know." Tander shrugged his shoulders before plopping in his chair. "But it seemed official and all Ministry-like to say that, yeah? But you two go home. It's a slow day…"

Hermione refuted, "But Mr. DeRogue, it's only half past–"

He waved his hand. "Go home. Trust me, there'll be a time when you both beg me for leave."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Ernie muttered before leaving. Hermione stayed however, and huffed in willfulness.

"Granger, go," Tander urged. "I have a feeling you won't get too many occasions like this. Not with the way The Con and the ID rumble."

"About the Graphorn, perhaps? I've been reading about the case file, and I know it happened before I got here, but I do find it odd that–"

"Leave, before ward you out of the offices."

"I really have nothing to do," Hermione conceded. Going home at this rate would mean reruns on the telly, a check-up of her parents' home, and complete and utter silence– a thing Hermione didn't want to introduce herself to.

"Okay. You can take these responses to The Con and ID. But really, go home. Eat, sleep, read, do something worthwhile."

She accepted the papers he held out to her. "Will do, sir. I'll deliver these then straighten out my desk and I guess head home."

"And that's an order," Tander demanded jokingly.

* * *

Hermione took the long way home; trying to delay the silence that was waiting for her, when suddenly a colorful, big and bright exotic bird began to fly into her vision and close to her flat.

Hermione groaned. This bird was not discreet enough to her muggle neighbors. She lived near her parents in the middle of muggle London for Merlin's sake!

She ran to a deserted side alley and apparated into her home, hoping to shoo the bird off before anyone nearby become suspicious.

Hermione place was quaint. A living room, a kitchen, two bedroom and one and a half baths, furnished with what she thought were the essentials like a small brown couch, telly and phone, a bed for her room, a desk for the other, a kitchen table, and of course a bookshelf. She prided herself on her practical nature. Albeit there was a fireplace she had been tirelessly trying to attach to the Floo network, knowing Ron's preference to travel. He still roomed with George above his shop and preferred the accessibility.

"Now, who is sending me letters?" she asked the bird as she opened the window in her kitchen. In return to got a loud squawk that she tried quickly 'sshh.'

She untied the folded piece of parchment the bird had attached and rushed to the kitchen to tear off a piece of bread for the bird to have on its journey back. The bird had other idea, flew into her place, and took the entire bunch of grapes she had sitting on her table.

Hermione sighed in defeated as the bird exited. She held up the parchment to read.

_Hermione,_

_I'm really not supposed to be writing. But we're practicing our stealth abilities; so I figure I can stealth-ly send this message to you. Call me clever._

_It's only been but a few days, but they're already sent us off-grid to some remote location that I'd fail to describe adequately to you. And I know how much you love detail. Let's say if I can get Harry to tell me wherever the bloody hell we are, I'd take you myself, yeah?_

_Of course, Harry doesn't show me any special treatment. Fact, I hardly see him outside sessions. I really only see other Jackets here. That's what we call ourselves training, cause we wear these funny jackets…nevermind. Again, I'll have to show you._

_But these guys are young, 'Mione. Okay, most are a year or two younger, but still. Dennis Creevey's here and he's just a kid! Wait I'm not supposed to name names. Forget I said names._

_I miss you, Hermione. This will be a long year._

_I'll write when I stealth-ly can._

_Love,_

_Ron_

Hermione held the note close to her, hearing Ron's voice as clear as day in her mind. He left in what seemed like a lifetime but really two weeks ago to start Auror training. Hermione hadn't really noticed, with her work being able to keep her busy since she started a month ago. But it was moments like these, were work wasn't there to cover her; she was faced with the silence she was a stranger to.

Gripping the note closer, she settled on her couch, turning on the television in hopes to distract her mind.

* * *

Please review and stay tuned! Interesting events to follow...


	2. Week 2

Disclaimer: Not mine. Please feel free to help me clear up anything that may not make sense. I tried to follow the timeline after 1998 (so this story is in 1999) and keep it as British as possible (thanks Wikipedia). Also any and all specific Potter info I got from the Potter Wikipedia.

* * *

_You have one new message_

_**Beep**_

_Hello, 'Mione. It's Harry. Ron sent you a letter last week, didn't he? He's supposed to be off-grid and untraceable, so please don't reply. Though be my guest to leave a howler or two waiting for him when he gets back._

_He's, uh, he's doing really well, Hermione. You'd be proud. I know you're proud, but regardless. I'm not showing him any special treatment, and it's hard, but I hope he knows that I'm rooting for him too. Rooting for all of them, really, no preferential treatment, remember?_

_We're fine. We've just kipped off on mainland here, ready to travel again. I'm using a payphone and don't have much, what is it, Canadian, I think, dollars, on me, so I'll cut off now. _

_Love you, miss you, and take care._

She wished she were able to catch Harry's call. But with the time difference, she was most likely well asleep before he rang. But his message was enough to fill her morning.

There was a skip in her step on her way to work.

* * *

She entered into her department that morning to see a crowd full of people in her supervisor's office. Her natural curiosity roared its head and she craned to try to hear what was going on.

"Mungo's, pronto, got it," was all she heard Tander say before the crowd of people dispersed from his office.

The people retreated from his office as Hermione moved out of the way, some acknowledging her with a smile or a nod, others ignoring her. After the room was cleared, Tander called out, "Granger!"

Hermione, not being to far off, swiftly moved into his office. "Yes, sir?"

"Macmillian!"

A thud. A muttered curse. A few steps.

Ernie stepped in, holding a paper cup in his hand, contents on his shirt and visibly disheveled. "Here, sir."

"What do you know about Graphorns?"

Ernie gave an exasperated sigh as his eyes closed and head tilted back. Hermione, however, internally cheered at her intuition to look over old case files.

"I reviewed the case file from South America about the baby Graphorn found there just yesterday, sir," Hermione stated.

"I remembered," Tander replied with soft pride. "How about you, Macmillian?"

"I'll be better suited to answer after I had a cup...or ten."

"Well no time. You'll need to head down to St. Mungo's and get a full report."

Ernie raised his eyebrow in confusion. "Me. Sir?"

Tander added, "If Granger needs you."

Both Ernie and Hermione stood in silence digesting Tander's comment.

Hermione eventually coughed out, "Me?"

"Yes. I want you to take lead on this case. I'm stuck in meetings with the head of The Con, ID, and the Minister on strategy plans to nip this thing in the bud. You'll need to go to St. Mungo's, First Floor, ask for Healer Appleby, and he'll lead you to a room with a bunch of brutes."

At Hermione's concerned expression, Tander chuckled. "Don't let them scare you, Granger. I'm certain The Con and the ID didn't put just any Billywig on this case."

Hermione, still speechless, just slowly nodded before preparing to exit his office.

"Good luck, Granger. I want a daily update and a report on my desk by the end of the week."

Hermione slowly smiled and left.

* * *

"So what do you think it could be?" Ernie asked as they walked from the fireplace after using the direct floo from the Ministry to St. Mungo's. "I mean if the whole Department is in on it, it must be huge. What if…"

Hermione drowned him out. She was way too excited at the prospect of her first lead case! She put blinders on and focused on the task at hand.

"Excuse me, is Healer Appleby around?" Hermione said to the nearest attendant in healer robes.

The healer nodded in recognition. "Miss Granger, pleasure. He'll be in Ward 2 waiting for you."

Hermione began to walk forward, but Ernie held her shoulder.

"Wait, Herms…"

"Hermione." Correcting him was becoming a reflex.

"You need to go in that room tough. Like you mean business. Give them an aggressive stare to let them know you're boss."

Hermione just stared at Ernie blankly.

He clapped his hands in response. "Okay, we'll work on the stare later."

Hermione continued to the ward.

"Okay, how about we do some press-ups before we walk in? Tander did say that they were brutes!"

* * *

Hermione entered the too white, too small ward where five people were waiting.

One was Healer Appleby, who sighed, "Finally. The representatives from the regional branch are here."

Despite all working for the Ministry, Hermione hardly saw all its employees, no more so the adventurous ones assigned to her department. The two sitting to her left were two burly men, who reminded her of Viktor Krum, who only acknowledged her arrival with a slight head turn.

The two her right were a bit more receptive, a young Asian woman and a fit Latin man. They each gave her a small smile as Healer Appleby began to explain the situation.

"There is a Graphorn faction that was located in the mountainous part off the Western coast of South America…"

Ernie interrupted his speech as he crept into the room. Clearing his throat and puffing out his chest, he tried to look like a formidable threat against the strangers in the room.

Ernie leaned closer to Hermione once glancing towards the big men on the left. "What is this, the department meeting or Beater tryouts?" He chuckled to himself before the pair both stood to their impressive heights. Ernie quickly shut up then.

"As I was saying…" no doubt a dismissive glance at Ernie, "the Graphorn is not native to South America and this Graphorn was found in its infancy by the International Team during a surveillance of the area."

Hermione, of course, knew this from reading the case file.

"However, what was found upon the further investigation by the Continental Regulation Squad is a supposed case of Graphorn infection."

Ernie muttered, "This can't be good."

"What we can confirm is accidental, and whilst there are two patients, our fears may stem to epidemic proportions."

Hermione questioned, "How did the infection start?"

One of the burly guys spoke up. "We believe it was a batch of Antidote to Uncommon Potions brewed with an irregular Graphorn horn that may have lead to this." He nodded to his partner to confirm his statement. "But again, this is all speculation."

"Then how come the First Floor of St. Mungo's?" Ernie asked.

Healer Appleby answered him, "We're better equipped to handle this case here. It is an unusual situation, but we're using all the resources we can."

"We need to head back to where we can document our Patient Zero," burly bloke number two said. "Hopefully something or someone in the area can lead us to some irregularities."

Then the fit Latin man made his presence known. "We need to send a team out to South America _soon_," stressing the importance. "We need to lockdown the area and look for larger scale differences that could trace us back to the problem."

Everyone looked at Hermione and Ernie, figuring they would speak next.

"Then…we need to stay here and quarantine the patients," Hermione provided giving a slight nod to both teams. "We will record detailed accounts of their respective states and ensure the infection does not spread."

Everyone seemed satisfied with that answer.

"Excellent," Healer Appleby confirmed. "Once we know more, I'll alert a team of potioneers to begin the appropriate treatments for the patients."

Everyone began to leave the room, however Hermione held Healer Appleby and Ernie behind.

Hermione began apprehensively, "Healer, how bad is the infection?"

"Well, the patients are beginning to exhibit the characteristic of the Graphorn. Grey and purple skin changes, walking on all fours…"

Ernie muttered again, "This can't be good."

"We're keeping them contained to the best of our abilities before they begin to be aggressive."

Healer Appleby led the two out of the ward and walked briskly towards the rooms of the two patients.

Healer Appleby further explained, "Both patients still retain human conscience. The first patient: 43, male, Richard Jacoby, is a bit more advanced than the second patient: 37, male, Carter Constance. We expect no problem, but we do have a set of healers to sedate if necessary. You are allowed your wands, but only to perform defensive spells. I'll be doing rounds on the floor if you need me." With that, he dismissed himself.

"This is fantastic," Ernie grumbled. "You know what this is, we're child-minders."

Hermione scoffed, "No, we're not."

"Oh yes we are. We are Ministry approved child-minders, getting paid to babysit while the 'big boys' get to go out and play hero all over Europe and wherever the hell else." Ernie sat with a thud in a nearby chair, clearly frustrated at the situation.

Hermione couldn't help but inwardly agree.

She looked around the room, separated by a partition and crossed her arms. "They seem asleep right now. When they wake, it's best to get their statements then so for clarity, then we can report back to DeRogue later."

As Hermione began to sit down next to Ernie, she could've sworn she saw a head of platinum blond hair walk by their room.

_Curious, _she thought.

* * *

Again, feel free to give suggestions or corrections. I live to serve!


	3. Week 3

Disclaimer: Not mine. All spell info found on the Potter wikipedia. Again, any and all suggestions are welcome!

* * *

Ernie was right. And it was tiresome playing nanny to two grow men all day. Both he and Hermione began to take shifts since last week and both were beginning to get weary at their assignment.

Hermione was growing restless. Constant reports back to Tander left little to hope for as both the ID and The Con were arguing over which team was best to survey the group of Graphorns they found in the Balkans.

There were no changes to the men, no clues as to why anything was happening, and no sightings of the platinum blond hair she swore she spotted last week.

Hermione was walking the First Floor of St. Mungo's, getting ready to begin her shift over the two patients. This was them "quarantining" the outbreak, their "contribution" to the departmental cause. Cor blimey, Hermione was beyond frustrated.

As a remedy, Hermione thought back to the postcard her parents sent her yesterday; well wishes for the start of their two-week long cruise.

_Hermione,_

_We've just docked off from Spain. Andalusia is such a wonderful place. The Mediterranean does wonders for the weather here; none of that dreary bit back home. This is going to be a long couple of weeks, but the Mediterranean is so culturally rich, it's worth it. _

_Please eat and floss. We love you dear._

_Mum and Dad_

_PS: Your mother bought you something. Looks a bit dodgy to me, but she's quite excited by it. I'll do my best to make it 'magically disappear' before we end up in France, yeah? Take care. ~Dad._

Hermione could only think to what her mother had gotten her. Her and Molly Weasley had been spending time together since they got back from Australia and before the cruise. Her mother had even been encouraged to take up knitting. Hermione knew better, her mother's hands may have been built to handle incisors and molars, but knitting was not her strong suit.

Hermione was only a few paces away from the door leading to the two patients before Ernie came barreling out of there, barely standing upright.

"Hermione!"

He used her full name. This couldn't be good.

"Hermione, we have a problem," Ernie began out of breath. "One of the blokes grew into his horns."

Oh shite, this wasn't good.

"He started to attack and he's not taking well to my spells."

Crash, boom. A deep growl.

"Okay, Ernie, go find one of the healers directed to sedate," Hermione instructed. "I'll try to contain him and protect the other patient."

"Right." Ernie wobbled hurried off, leaving Hermione to face what was behind the door.

_Let's see what's behind door number one, _she joked mentally.

She slowly opened the door to reveal the patient breathing heavily, staring at her entrance. The partition was still up and she hoped that meant the other patient was left untouched.

"Mr. Jacoby," she knew. The healer said his case was more advanced than the other. "Now, if we can just calm down, a healer will be here shortly…"

A loud growl.

"Okay, maybe not." She put her wand up defensively.

He charged at her.

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_

It bounced off his skin, which had turned an awkward flesh tone/purple-grey.

"_Duro!_"

She casted the charm at the nearby curtains, which she then levitated and aimed at his side.

He brushed it off then started his charge at her.

Hermione ran out of the door and closed it, figuring its hold would contain his aggression. That brought her…oh, all of a second, before he was able to break through.

"_Glacius!_"

Icicles bounced off his shoulder.

"_Glacius Duo!_"

She was able to freeze his legs momentarily, but the charm broke. He restarted his charge at her.

Hermione began to run down the hallways of the hospital, desperately moving people out harm's way to find an abandoned room which to lock him in.

"_Incarcerous!_"

The rope easily broke.

"_Tarantallegra_!"

She would have to apologize to the healer trainee that got the burnt of that jinx.

"_Immobulus_!"

That may have been okay for pixies, but obviously not for man-beast combinations.

"_Stupefy!_"

The red sparks almost laughed as they reflected off of him and back to her. She landed flat on her bum in an empty hallway, her wand flung over out of her reach.

She held her hand out for a wandless '_accio_' but his loud stomping distracted her. She turned to face him, just to see him recoil back from a shield charm out of nowhere.

Hermione quickly looked around for the caster. She saw that platinum blond in her vision behind her.

Draco Malfoy.

"Are you daft, Granger? Haul arse!"

Hermione was still too stunned at the whole situation, making her perfect bait for the Graphorn infected patient.

Draco casted a wandless '_fumos_' before manhandling Hermione by the collar and dragging her into the room he was in. The room had windows giving them a view her patient wandering in confusion in the smoke.

The room was potion heaven. To the left, there was a cupboard of ingredients. There were cauldrons lined up underneath and some placed on tables throughout the room. The room was white and the tables were blacktop, decorated with an assortment of crucibles, glass vials, beakers, and test tubes…plus books on books on books!

But Hermione could focus on none of that.

She was currently preoccupied with the strong arm that was tightly wrapped around her waist; the other had a glove-covered hand covering her mouth.

She made a sound in protest, but Draco quickly shushed her. His face was right by hers, his exhalations blowing directly in her ear causing Hermione to squirm at the feeling. He tightened his arm around her waist to stop her movements making Hermione feel the strong muscle pressed against her abdomen…

Why was she so hyper aware of everything? Good Merlin, what kind of shoddy potions were being brewed in here? What kind of institution was Mungo's running?

They were able to see Mr. Jacoby confused by the smoke, then promptly wrestled to the floor by a pair of big men…and Ernie, then slowly stopped moving after the sedative was administered. He was levitated away.

Hermione felt her adrenaline from the chase steady. She moved Draco's hands away from her as she stepped out of his embrace. She took a few quick breaths before turning to face him.

She knew she should say something.

She had no idea what.

"Did you perform that wandless '_protego_'?" Smooth question, Hermione. Safe question, Hermione.

He, however, didn't respond as he promptly proceeded to take off the gloves he was wearing and reach for new ones. Hermione was floored. How insulting!

"Oh, what, even with gloves, your hands are dirty? Still nesting those feelings of blood purity? Why not cast an _'incendio_' on the entire room since I stepped foot here!" Hermione was livid.

Draco just scoffed. "I'm working on a new potion," he simply explained. "And if one of the ingredients were Hermione Granger's lipstick, I'm sure you wouldn't be too thrilled having to provide your services for mass production."

Oh.

He was merely concerned with his potion brewing. Why had she rushed to such harsh conclusions?

"Did you perform that wandless '_protego_'?" she asked again softly, more humbled by her rash judgment.

He was still putting on new gloves, still ignoring her question.

"You should probably go pick up your wand," he said. "I'd recommend using a Disillusionment charm getting back to your room, you caused a bit of a scene rushing two floors."

Two floors? Hermione looked outside the window in the room and sure saw the sign with a giant '3' on it. The hospital implemented a seamless floor-transitioning spell instead of lifts to help transport patients floor to floor. Great idea, but still disorienting at times. Like now.

Hermione's adrenaline wore off, and she was out of breath. "I didn't even notice," she groaned. The _Prophet_ would have a field day reporting this. She did her best to avoid publicity after the war, but if the _Prophet_ could get its hands on a story, it would.

Draco was fully immersed in his work now, completely ignoring Hermione's presence. Hermione felt herself dreading to leave this small sanctuary and walked up closer to where Draco was towering over a cauldron.

"Are you brewing something?" she asked peering.

He didn't respond.

"Wait a minute, why are you here, Malfoy?" Why hadn't Hermione questioned his presence at Mungo's?

Still no answer.

She made her way towards the door of the potion room before Malfoy spoke again.

"There's still a system of lifts used for emergencies if you make a right, a right, then a left," he offered, still concentrated on his potion work. "They look doubtful because of lack of use, but work just fine. The press doesn't know about them."

What was this niceness? But really, what kind of potions were they brewing in here? Hermione was too surprised to offer more than a head nod before she left.


	4. Week 4

Disclaimer: Same as always...

* * *

Hermione was proud of herself. It had been five days since her encounter with Malfoy and she had not once given into the temptation to walk right back to that potions room and ask him all the nagging questions burning in her mind.

'_What potion are you brewing?_' If not anything, Hermione's natural curiosity to learn overpowered all.

'_How did you cast that wandless 'protego' and 'fumos'?'_ It was strong enough to deter Richard Jacoby, which was pretty talented, especially for a 19-year-old.

'_Why are you at St. Mungo's?_' Hermione knew that his father had served time in Azkaban for his part in the war, but due to his family's defection and the capture of more and more escaped Death Eaters, for space, he was released after a few months. However he was subjugated to house arrest, heavy fines, and wand confiscation. Hermione assumed Malfoy would follow in his father's line of work, whatever that would be.

Yet he was here.

Hermione wasn't able to view all of the Malfoy Family Trials, going back to Hogwarts and finding her parents instead. Harry instead went to their prosecution and provided testimony for Malfoy and Narcissa. His mother got off free, but he was subjected to some punishment.

Hermione sat in the room, where Mr. Jacoby and Mr. Constance both laid sedated. Mr. Constance had began to sprout his horns shortly after Mr. Jacoby's incident, and Healer Appleby didn't want a repeated goose chase.

Goodness, Hermione had been mortified once the story reached the pages of _The Daily Prophet_ the next day. She knew they were treating this case with the utmost caution in fear of epidemic proportions, but testimony of various healer trainees– who knew no better, Hermione mentally defended– and that one trainee she hit with the _tarantallegra_ spell was all the paper needed to report the story.

That trainee just lost the lovely fruit basket Hermione planned to send in apology for the spell.

Pity. It would've been a nice basket too.

Fortunately Hermione wasn't attached to the story. She had taken the lifts as Malfoy suggested and avoided the reporters easily until visiting hours were over.

That didn't stop her spirit hurting at the light admonishment she received from Tander the next morning once the story broke. She nearly put the department on notice and spread pandemonium about an outbreak that may occur. But the way _The Prophet_ reported the story, it seemed as if the infection was an isolated event.

Another question. '_Why tell me about the lifts?_' Was this some sort of olive branch?

Mr. Jacoby and Mr. Constance's deep breaths were the only thing filling the silence in the room.

She had enough.

She crept out of the room and into the busy hallways, creeping past Healer Appleby and sneaking to the third floor.

Stood outside the potion room she remembered being in, and then ducked from sight under the windows.

What was she doing? Why was she doing this? This was insane. Voluntarily wanting to talk to _the_ Draco Malfoy, the guy who made her life miserable for _years,_ whose _father_ tried to kill her, whose _aunt_ extracted the most painful torture she had ever experienced…

A light chuckle came from behind her.

Of course, it was Malfoy.

He said nothing as he walked past her crouched position and into the room. She rose and followed to where he was rolling up his sleeves and putting on gloves. It was late when Malfoy arrived. No one else was in the room, neither was anyone in the room last time, she noted.

Another thing to ask about.

However when Malfoy began rearranging his materials, adjusting his self-writing quill to take notes on a pristine black notebook, Hermione found herself at a loss for words. She was nervous, yes, nervous about how to talk to him without seeming harsh and accusatory. A realization she gained postwar: everyone had changed.

He looked so focused brewing his potion that Hermione felt wrong interrupting. She knew what it was like to be fixated on something, to put blinders on to the rest of the world.

She walked up closer to the blacktop table near the far wall where his work covered. She looked at the ingredients: wormwood, asphodel, African seat salt, Valerian root– Draught of Living Death, she figured.

She went to grab a sophophorous bean and a sloth brain from the elements cupboard across the room. She placed them gently in front of him. An olive branch of her own of sorts.

"I'm not making the Draught of Living Death," Malfoy said.

Branch denied. She felt a little wounded.

He added, "The opposite, really."

Branch accepted?

"Wiggenweld, perhaps?" She could leave the sloth brain for the mucus, but none of these materials corresponded with…

He shook his head. "Not quite."

She held on anxiously to see if he would say anything else. Not likely.

"What would be the opposite of the Draught of Living Death?" she asked, hoping for him to speak again.

"The Draught of Dying Life, I suppose," he shrugged.

What. She knew Mungo's was running some slip shot operation here! She felt it when she was last here being held against him, his deep breathing in her ear, his delightful forearm muscle…

"Malfoy, what are you on, there's no such thing."

"I know."

She raised her eyebrow. That meant–

"You're creating it!"

Silence, once again.

"I mean, Living Death is hard enough to brew itself; it's very complex." She was baiting him, trying to get him to talk more.

He wasn't biting.

"Are you recording properties now?"

No bite.

No matter. She began to list what she knew. "The sloth brain is a…"

"Can I help you, Granger?" She saw his clenched jaw. He was annoyed. Did she say something rash again?

"Just wanted…to talk." It was true. She wanted to ask and wanted him to answer.

"I'm not quite in the mood for talking." His focus was strict, contained to his cauldron and his notes.

Still no matter.

She walked over next to him where his notebook rested. She cast a '_finite_' on his quill and took the feather in her hands.

Malfoy's eyes flashed quickly to her. "What are you doing?" She had his full attention now.

"There are gross inaccuracies with the self-writing quill as of late. A problem I'm sure the companies are working on, but it's best to be safe."

To his credit, if Malfoy looked like he was about to pop a vein, he hid it well. The only true sign of his anger being his shallow breathing and his foot tapping against the floor tile.

"Can. I. Help. You. Granger," he repeated through gritted teeth.

She folded her arms. "I told you."

"And I responded."

"Why are you here?" She went for it. If he won't talk now, he won't talk ever.

A sigh.

"The Draught of Living Death produces a deep, death-like slumber. I want to produce the opposite effects, not the antidote," Malfoy said.

"So creating consciousness?"

"In patients that are in stupor, hopefully this will create momentary alertness."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "I admit, potions was never quite my strong suit, but I was always interested in them and how to go about _creating_ a new potion, something…"

"Has anyone ever said you talk to much? Because you do."

She looked down in defense. It was her way to fill the silence.

A few more moments passed. Malfoy began preparing the ingredients as if to brew, while Hermione took up writing the properties of each.

"Will you ever answer my questions, Malfoy?" she asked quietly.

"You only asked one." Smartass.

"I have more."

"I know you do."

She decided to be quiet. They continued this routine well into the night.

* * *

A/N This story is book compliant til the epilogue. And it's my first Harry Potter fic, so all support is welcomed! All alerts, reviews, favorites, they mean a lot!


	5. Week 5

Disclaimer: Property of JK Rowling.

* * *

They analyzed each ingredient and ended up brewing the Draught of Living Death, which led them well into next week. It was difficult creating an entirely new potion, especially with effects such as drastic as the draught. They looked into properties of the Pepper-Up Potion and the Elixir to Induce Euphoria, believing them to have the effects they were looking for in the Draught of the Dying Life.

Okay, so the name needed some rendering.

This gave her something to do. She was going insane being left to watch over the two patients for almost three weeks now. She had no idea what Ernie did during his shifts. Well, not entirely true. One day, she saw he smuggled a CD player and a few CDs from his old office.

Day after day, she spent the late night hours with Malfoy holed up in the potion room, discussing theories behind comatose states and ingredient properties and combinations. He only came to Mungo's during the evenings, which Hermione made sure she was present for.

She asked him about this one night to no answer.

"You know, this potion making could take months or longer," he said one night when he began to brew the Pepper potion. She had started gathering the materials to brew the Euphoria potion and nearly dropped them all.

She was insulted. How dare he think she'd just leave!

"Good thing I have a few months to spare then," she replied, shifting the ingredients in her hand. She wouldn't say more. He wouldn't listen anyways.

She thought about that night as she made her usual path to the potion room on the third floor. She started taking the lifts Malfoy suggested, learning not only did the press not know they existed, but neither did most of Mungo's employees.

Hermione knew he wouldn't be there– it was still sun out, hardly evening.

_Maybe he's a vampire_, she thought. _That would explain the nighttime qualities…and pale skin_.

To her surprise, there he was rolling up his sleeves, preparing to put gloves on. There, she caught a glimpse of it, a scarred Dark Mark. She figured the mark would never go away, but Malfoy's was always hidden under his long sleeves or his gloves. She never saw it during her visits. It was a reminder of his former self.

But how much could she account for present Malfoy?

He caught her eye and held its gaze as he slowly put on each glove and walked over to his workplace.

"You're early." She decided to break the ice first.

"Can't stay to long, have plans for the evening."

Good Merlin, Hermione felt hurt. Just because the alternative to her evenings were a rereading of every Jane Austen novel doesn't mean his were. She lived for the educational thrill that creating this potion instead of the banalities of baby-sitting the two patients. And of course the silence she so avoided.

"Of course," she said nodding. "Don't want to hold you." She wanted to asked where he was going, who he was going with, what he was doing, have you done it before, would it be fun, would you do it again, do they know where you spend your evenings…

What was Hermione thinking?

Hermione continued talking. "If you want, you can go now." She would go back downstairs, finish her shift with Mr. Jacoby and Mr. Constance, and then head back home for some _Sense and Sensibility_. Perhaps she would get a letter out to her parents? Their cruise was almost over and muggle post was difficult to reach, so perhaps an owl? That would be a fright for all those aboard.

Maybe Neville? Neville! Why hadn't she thought of him before? She knew he relocated somewhere with his grandmother after Hermione and him both went back to Hogwarts. Then she knew he had taken a part-time Ministry job working with plants.

"Yes." She might as well add fuel to the fire that was already churning in her mind. "In fact, I have plans too. After I finish my watch."

"A date?"

Woah, where did those words come from? Let him think what he thinks.

"Dinner."

"With?"

Double woah. Was this Malfoy getting personal? Would she finally be able to ask him all those questions she had wanted?

Hermione put her hands on her hips before she began. "Do you plan to mock me?"

"No." He sounded sincere. Maybe if she responded, he wouldn't avoid answering her questions like the plague.

"Neville."

Malfoy did that stupid chuckling under his breath thing that he usually seem to do when she was around. Hermione had half a mind to slap him.

"I thought you said no mocking?" she huffed.

"I did. I was just wondering that dinner may be a bit difficult as he's somewhere close to Norway right now."

Norway? What the hell?

Hermione was getting angrier. "And how do you figure?"

"He's on the Base Team for the Aurors, working on battle remedies and potions. Last I heard, they were interested in the qualities of the Walking Plant and had found a garden of them off the coast of Norway."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Not only had she been caught in her lie, but also she had been shut up, turned around, and swift kicked in the arse. She hadn't known any of this!

"Well," she sputtered. "That's that."

He chuckled. Again. She was sure she growled at him.

"Fine, Malfoy. Let's just call this day a bust so you can get on with your date and I can find something or _someone_ worthy to occupy my time." She hoped her emphasis had bruised his ego. Even if only slightly.

"I never said it was a date," he said.

She'd been turned round again.

"Then," her curiosity runneth over, "what is it?"

"Dinner."

Hermione flew off the handle. "Oh, you stupid prat! You prick! Spitting my words back…"

"Granger, calm down," he pacified. "I was joking. Well not really. It's dinner at the Manor with my mother."

Oh.

She had been jarred more times than she could count by him. He was always so guarded; she had no idea how to approach him.

"Don't tell me you're jealous of my mother?"

"Jealous?" she scoffed. "Don't be daft. Not only she had to be your incubator for nine months, she's had to see you everyday since. I pity the woman. Send her my regards."

She crossed her arms and sent him a haughty look before she laughed. Just laughed. She really was going insane. Malfoy must've thought so.

He looked at her apprehensively. "I'll tell her you think so highly of her."

"Oh no, please, I didn't mean to offend."

Another silence.

"Will you ever tell me why you're here at St. Mungo's, Malfoy?" she asked. She always asked.

He looked at her pensively before responding, "I think I'm trying. Ask something easier."

Something easier?

"I can't think of what to say," she conceded.

"Then let's just brew."

He ended up cancelling dinner with his mother to continue to brew with her.

* * *

I appreciate all you reading and hanging in for the drama to happen. Good things come to those who wait ;)


	6. Week 6

DISCLAIMER AS USUAL. Also, a huge thanks to those reviewing, I appreciate the encouragement and the criticisms. TO REVIEWERS LIKE YOU. THANK YOU.

* * *

Hermione wonder why hadn't thought of this before. It had been nearly a month since she was first assigned this case and the department was no closer to finding the solution behind this Graphorn infection.

But they had agreed to the reason.

Just as she was told, it was a wonky batch of Antidote to Uncommon Poisons, which had been promptly collected and was now being sent through the ringer in the Ministry, trying to figure out what went wrong. Now it seemed a game for the Ministry to properly investigate something through someone, Aurors were involved…

The Ministry could sod off for all she cared.

Hermione got tired of waiting and wanted to take matters into her own hands.

She marched towards the lab room with purpose. She was going to ask Malfoy outright for help. No beating around the bush, just getting straight to the point.

Hermione opened the door to the potion room and saw him standing there, finding a nervousness she hadn't previously held.

Damn. How could Malfoy make her feel this way? Granted, she never knew how to talk to him. He would either not answer, do that stupid chuckling thing under his breath that made Hermione want to hex him, or say something complete out of the norm. Like last week. When he said he was 'trying,' what did that possibly mean? Hermione dwelled on that for days, contemplating his words in her mind through many a staff meeting and discussion. She hadn't come up with a viable answer.

"You may never answer my question, Malfoy, as to why you're here," she began walking over to his table. "But do you know why I'm here?"

Silence. Except his actions stilled, alerting Hermione that he was processing her question. She figured she'd continue.

"An infected batch of Antidote to Uncommon Poisons went…wonky for lack of a better word…and had 'undesired' effects."

More silence.

"How could we make an antidote for an antidote?"

"This seems a bit confidential. Am I supposed to know this?"

Hermione hesitated. "Well, I didn't name specifics, Malfoy, and I assume you're under just as much confidence working here at St. Mungo's as I am with the Ministry, and I trust you…" she faltered off. She trusted him. For some unexplainable reason, he'd earned her trust unknowingly during these past few weeks. He wasn't the same boy she knew at Hogwarts, so she wanted to start fresh. Hermione prided herself on her judge of character. She hoped she wasn't proven wrong.

"You trust me?" he repeated in disbelief.

Hermione looked at him determinedly before nodding.

He did his stupid little chuckle, this time with a skeptical tone. "Trust me, Granger? You've lost it. I really don't know what you think _this_ is other than you being an annoying little chit who doesn't know when to back off."

That hurt. But Hermione was too prideful to let that show. "Really, Malfoy? I highly doubt you could do any of this work by yourself. Even expert potioneers take years to concoct suitable potions. It's beyond NEWT level material. Do you even have your NEWTs?"

"Get off your self-righteous high horse, I do. I went back to school."

"Really? Don't tell me you count that shoddy excuse for a seventh year as proper schooling."

"I went back."

Hermione didn't know. True, she took her final year in a series of independent study courses, but those in her "year" never quite had a graduation ceremony. Headmistress McGonagall made it a big deal for her and Dean Thomas, the two Gryffindors who returned, and threw a small celebration for them both in her old Transfiguration classroom. Hogwarts was in too much of a rebuilding process to concern itself with such trifles…

Except Hermione shook her head. Her graduation was anything but a trifle. It was a personal achievement, her milestone. And something she knew The Daily Prophet would love to grab hold of: _War Heroine Surmises Schooling as a Priority. _Their flashing bulbs, and pestering questions would've ruined the moment. She was grateful for the confines of the small classroom, her parents' and Dean's family's enjoyment, Dean's presence, and McGonagall's pride.

She had no idea what came of the others in her year.

"I went back, too," she admitted.

Malfoy nodded. "I guessed as such."

Silence. Although this was a comforting one, comforting to know they both had attempted to find some normalcy in going back to school.

"So, could you help me?" she asked hesitantly.

"You must have this arrangement confused for something that is it not," he explained, sparing her no glance.

Lest she make that mistake again, she turned her heel to leave the potion room. "My apologies. Good evening, Malfoy."

She stomped back down to Mr. Jacoby and Mr. Constance's ward, arms crossed as she sat in a chair by the door. Foolish, she thought, foolish she was for believing Malfoy would do something that had no benefit for him. Foolish for her believing he was not the same foul, loathsome little boy who had tormented her throughout school. Why had she thought differently?

It was no matter she resigned. She sat up in her chair, resolved to take matters in her own hands.

_If Malfoy can brew his own potions, then surely can I_, she mentally said. _I'll start by listing the properties of the Antidote for Uncommon Poisons. First…_

The door opened. Hermione stood up in shock to face the intruder. It was Malfoy.

She met his gaze tensely. She didn't know what to say to him if their previous conversation proved otherwise. Hermione thought he would come down to laugh at her, to continue their earlier tension at her asking of him such a preposterous request.

His eyes looked to her, then to the two patients, then back to her determinedly.

She said firmly, "You shouldn't be here."

Draco, instead of answering, walked closer to where Hermione stood. He stopped mere steps in front of her, his attention flitting between her eyes and the patients.

"You know, an antidote to an antidote is typically a poison," he stated.

This time she didn't respond.

"It'll be difficult," he added. "But I trust you have the proper information."

Again, she didn't say anything. She was certain that if she did, he would leave. All she did was hold his stare, once his attention was undivided. She looked into those grey eyes as if they were magnets, and one little move from her would cost the attraction lost.

"Get a sample of the contaminated brew. We'll survey it next week."

With that, the conversation was over. They held each other's gaze for a few moments more before Malfoy backed up towards the door and swiftly left.

Hermione had to smile.

* * *

I KNOW, I KNOW, I promised some sexy-times, but hang with me and this story, I PROMISE good times to come. KEEP READING.

As a treat, here's a sneaky-de-peak:

He grabbed her wrist to stop her from moving and jerked her closer to him.

"What the hell are you doing, Granger?"

His face looked contorted in pain, drawing out from her the utmost of sympathies.

"What are you doing to me?" he uttered softly.

Their bodies were so close, both drawing the same air. His eyes were magnets again, drawing her closer until their chests touched.


	7. Week 7

Disclaimer here. Please review and enjoy.

* * *

"I'm glad you had such a great time on your cruise, Mum," Hermione said, clutching a book to her chest. It was her third year potions book. She was in her childhood bedroom, her house still in standing after the war. The Ministry had done damage control to the surrounding muggles in her neighborhood, causing everyone to disregard the horrors of Voldemort's terror. However Hermione knew. Her knowledge made it difficult at times to stay at home– her mind often times taking off to replay some of the scenes she witnessed or heard about…

Hermione cleared her throat. "We'll have to talk about it later. I have to head to work."

"Oh honey, I just hope you're not overworking yourself. I know you must feel lonely since Ron isn't here or Harry or Ginny. Molly was just saying the other day how strange it is of her and Arthur to have an empty nest. But she's been spending as much time at Shell Cottage that she can…"

_I really want to bring my Care of Magical Creatures book. It'll probably attack Malfoy, _she mentally laughed. _Perhaps I can get it to attack him whenever he does that stupid chuckling thing._

"…Hermione, what's wrong?" her mother asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing. Just thinking about work," she conceded lamely.

"Well, I hope you don't overwork yourself. We have your birthday dinner tonight with the Weasleys."

Hermione was positive her eyes fell out of her head.

"Don't tell me you forgot! Molly was so sorry she couldn't be with you on your actual birthday, but Fleur asked for her help around the house since Bill is feeling a bit ill."

_Must mean full moon_, she reasoned.

"Anyways, Molly and Arthur are coming over, you know how Arthur loves muggle things. George said he'd stop by and Percy, I'm sure Fleur will come, pregnant and all. Oh, Ms. Tonks sends her regards, but Teddy is turning green and she must stay at home."

_He must be growing into his metamorphous trait! How exciting!_

"So don't overwork yourself today!" Jean playfully chided. "I know how much you like to keep busy."

"Yes, mum," said Hermione quietly.

She gave her daughter a quick hug. "Make sure you say bye to your father before you go."

Hermione's mind was already buzzing into overdrive. This dinner came out of nowhere. Was she that consumed with her work, she blocked off everyone and everything else? Was she that consumed with Malfoy?

Hermione shuddered as she walked into the living room were Richard sat.

"Hermione, I thought you said you couldn't fit more books in your flat."

"No worries, I was just grabbing some things on the way to work."

"Something wrong, dear?"

Hermione's father could read her like an open book. She tried to not let her concern show over the party, or over Malfoy of all people, show.

"I'm perfectly fine. I just forgot about dinner tonight, that's all."

Richard gave his daughter a worried look before responding. "You know if tonight doesn't work, then we can change. We're here for you."

Hermione shook her head. "No, no, of course not, not with Mrs. Weasley and everyone else coming."

"Ah yes, I swear, her and your mother are up to something."

Hermione giggled at her dad's discomfort.

"But you mustn't worry your head too much. You're much too young for that."

"I know, Dad."

"Plus, you have a tendency to grind down on your molars when you do get too worried. Now your mother and I have always said…"

Hermione began to head for the door. "I have to go, Dad. Love you!"

* * *

From the journey to the Ministry to grab some files she could use and to owl Ernie of her alternate plans, Hermione had already operated a foolproof plan that would allow her both to have her birthday dinner and theorize with Malfoy at St. Mungo's. She snuck over to the Postal Corridor to borrow an owl to deliver to Draco, alerting him of her dinner plans. It took her five tries to write in the most professional way Hermione could explain.

_Having dinner tonight with guests. Will be late. _

She didn't sign it– she figured the message held the same air of distance they kept in regular conversation, so why should their posts be any different? Although it may have been a little misleading. In fact, he could attribute 'having dinner' to any one of his friends, it was foolish for her to assume.

It took her three more tries to again send another owl– a smaller one, she figured, could catch up to her first– and with that, she left without waiting for a response.

The ministry owls are trained to return dutifully back to the Postal Corridor. And there, shortly after Hermione had left, were two familiar owls holding her letters for Malfoy in their grasp, returned unopened.

* * *

Hermione was surprised to see her partner Ernie standing in her parents' front door.

"Ernie! What are you doing here?"

"Hello to you too, Herm."

"Hermione," she corrected as she stepped aside to allow him entry. She closed the door and quickly turned around to confront Ernie again. "I thought you were covering for me on watch."

"I have to admits Herms…"

"Hermione."

"It surprised me when you owled and told me to cover for you," Ernie admitted. "It's not like you at all. And surely if you were to ask Tander, he would've easily given you the whole day."

"I didn't want the whole day," she stated. "I was headed down there within the hour." It was true. Her dinner began at five, and with a full course and second helping of dessert at Molly's request, everyone had apparated away by seven, except Fleur, escorted by George, who had left early courtesy of the reinvented Knight Bus (accounting for Stan Shunpike's rehabilitation from the Imperius curse) due to some pregnancy stress.

"No bother. The Mungo's employees are getting a bit restless with our constant hovering, so I've been barred from nighttime visiting hours."

Hermione shook her head. "We're there on Ministry orders, they can't just do that."

"Is that cake?"

Ernie's attention turned towards her kitchen where the remainder of her birthday desserts rested. Ernie had already made a beeline for the counter, scaring her poor mother washing dishes, and began to help himself to some cake.

"Would you like a plate, dear?" her mother asked, getting over her shock.

Hermione barged in after him, confronting him once more.

"Other than the Mungo's situation, is there anything else, Ernie?" she questioned.

While trying to maneuver a slice in front to his plate, he simultaneously grabbed two letters from his cloak pocket.

"These were on your desk. They looked time sensitive, so I decided to give them to you as soon as I could."

That was a lie, clear as day. No other clear sign than the glaring address of 'Malfoy' in her script on the front of both letters.

Ernie seemed to be too preoccupied with his food to judge her anxiety at these letters.

"Ernie, could you see yourself out? I must make it to the hospital immediately."

* * *

Hermione nearly ran from the lifts towards the potions room, hoping he was still in there. He was. A hyper green Wiggenweld potion held his full attention causing him to not notice when she walked in.

"I had sent you an owl," she said attempting to break his focus. She knew it would take more than that. "I didn't know it came back unopened until a short time ago."

The wrinkle of his brow and the straight line his mouth drew made her feel guilty.

"You must have some pretty impenetrable wards up." She meant that in more than one way. "Ministry owls are pretty smart."

Silence.

"I brought you something," she said reaching into her coat pocket. It was a shrunken plate of birthday cake she had to wrestle from Ernie before she left.

She saw he was slowly pouring divisions of his potion into smaller beakers then jotting down furious notes. He was writing them, she noticed. She took some delight that he must've paid attention to her when she first discussed faults with the Quick Quills.

She reached over and began to repeat his pour in another beaker when he grabbed her wrist to stop her from moving and jerked her closer to him.

"What the hell are you doing, Granger?"

His face looked contorted in pain, drawing out from her the utmost of sympathies.

"What are you doing to me?" he uttered softly.

Their bodies were so close, both drawing the same air. His eyes were magnets again, drawing her closer until their chests touched. Her body warmed to his heat and shivered. Embarrassed, she jerked away, unfortunately knocking over her division of the Wiggenweld on the floor.

"Dammit, Granger," he exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing?" he repeated harsher.

Still embarrassed, she squatted down to clean the potion before her arm stopped in midair. She laughed. Her heart expanded with joy and all she could feel was mirth.

He bent down and met her at eye level, flashing her the biggest smile she'd ever seen on him.

_The fumes from the Wiggenweld! How strong they must be, _she thought.

"I added some enhancement to the standard Wiggenweld." He caressed the side of her face so gently, leaving tingles in his tracks. "Guess that's why we're having a mild reaction," he explained as if reading her mind.

_This is mild?_

Malfoy moved closer until he was able to whisper in her ear. "You brought me cake."

Hermione laughed and Draco joined her. He soon ended up on his back and her crawling towards him. Her middle finger grazed the fallen potion before she reached him. She held up her hand for her own inspection; it was if all her delight begins at her fingertip and tingled all over. She wanted to stay within this rapture for as long as she could.

Her tongue darted out to lick, but Malfoy grabbed her wrist. He drew her hand to his mouth and licked the potion off, slightly sucking any residue. She couldn't believe it! He stole her happy!

_I'm getting it back_ was her rationale before she leaned forward to place her lips upon his.

* * *

This chapter was dedicated to all those who've read up to this point wanting something to happen. I thank you.


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